You Have Terminal Cancer?​But you don't Look Sick?​​

Terminally Fabulous, you've made my life unique, you certainly have opened my eyes to the strong and the weak. I started this blog under a little duress, not to say that anyone can make me do anything I do not want to do........believe me, those days are gone, gone are the days where I would go clothes shopping and think to myself " I couldn't wear that, "Casanova" (let's call my ex Casanova today, I'm feeling rather exotic) would lock me in a room in a dungeon filled with moths, until those little suckers had eaten the said please of clothing into non existence......ok......perhaps this is a little exaggerated, he was too cheap for that, he would have just went on and on at me about how slutty it looks and made me feel like a disgusting excuse for a woman, until I returned it, but you get the drift. You wanna know the fucking irony of it all? I had a grade A fantastic bunch of coconuts, yes they all stood in a row, more than a handful, but not too much, pretty good nipple/areola to boob ratio, but of course they were never allowed out to breathe in public. Now I look at the limited photos I have of my pre-cancer jugs with envy and a longing, even though I haven't had breast cancer, my poor boobs have gone through the ringer with all the weight loss and gain I've had during treatment and surgeries, they've literally been empty sacks of sagging skin to size 10-12 EE, my natural size was and always had been 8DD-E, pretty good for a 5 ft nothing 44kg chick, if I do say so myself! They've had more name changes, religion changes, career changes and size and shape changes than that Kate Fischer or Zephfriggingdilawullaphora from "Celebrity" Get Me Out of Here has had, they've gone from Swedish milkmaid to the bottle in the fridge door with a dribble of milk left in the bottom that nobody wants to drink. When I reluctantly take my top off (remember I have empty sacks of skin for boobs and a belly that resembles a 6 month pregnant skeleton, so the image looking back at me is the worst one yet and blah blah blah, I get it......the old "but you're still here" brigade start chiming in, I love you, but please kiss my sagging skinny ass whilst I complain about it, it is after all a woman's prerogative and beyond all of this terminal cancer shit, I like to think I'm at least still one of those. So upon my reluctance to take my own top off I have a tendency to hear the Aussie version of the song "I've been everywhere Man" playing as I disrobe and believe me they have! They've been up, they've been down, they've been dragged along the ground, they've seen east and west-at the same time-no less and the most talented skill of them all, would be their resilience to it all. Yes they may look strange and yes they may be wrinkly, but fuck they're tough little buggers and for that I salute you, my wrinkly, slightly unidentical twin boobs, because even through it all, the left one may still be a little bigger than the right, but at least I still have them, when so many others have lost them in the fight!

Now as usual I have gone completely off track, when I write that I was "forced" into writing the blog, it is more that I was convinced. I had a whole jinx thing going on in my Irish jinx guilt ridden head that if I start a blog it might hurry my process along, I know it's a weird thought to have. I suppose I was concerned that bringing attention to my illness, would bring other people with cancer or terminal illness to MY attention and did I really want to get to know people that had the same fate as me? Make friends with people that were inevitably going to die and remind me that I was dying too. Consoling family members that were losing or lost their loved one or consoling both patient and loved ones just dealing with this shit fullstop when I don't even know how to deal with it myself. You start a blog and people sometimes think you're some sort of authority on the topic matter. Believe me, just because Gwenyth Paltrow posts a paleo raw chocolate cake on her blog, does not mean that she sources the ingredients, technique and recipe and the thought that someone may write to me asking for advice about really personal and medical matters, scares the shit out of me. I always tell people that I'm not an expert, I don't have a psychological or medical degree, so I never would give advice that could get you or I in trouble, but any thoughts I do give are my own and I give them with love and hopefully they leave you feeling more heard and less confused and ignored.

I started writing this blog today because the fear I had about starting the Terminally Fabulous blog last February and it making me accept my reality and face the pure scariness of it all has come to fruition. I've made friends with strangers, we've built a community that supports one another and in doing this I've let my walls down, in turn allowing this disease in and reminding me whose boss. As much as I want to stomp around acting like this cancer is my bitch, it's not, I am it's bitch and as the disease progresses, the tighter the restraints get. I spend most of my days at home waiting for appointments that are basically the same meetings on replay, I sleep sitting up (I haven't lay down in at least 4 months, bedsores are becoming a common fixture now, sitting on my tailbone is like sitting on blades of glass) when my disease lets me, I go out when my disease lets me, I eat when my disease lets me digest food and the list goes on, the disease dictates my days.

I'm writing today from a place of inevitable sadness, the fear of losing those I've connected with has started to become a reality, no longer a fear, it's happening. People who've had terminal cancer the same or a similar length of time to myself are dying around me, we've been each other's supporters and listened to each other's fears and now we're starting to drop like flies, the stuff that we've spoken about as if it was in the third person, it couldn't really be about us.....could it? We're too young, we've achieved nothing, we're good people, stuff like this happens to bad people, not a married man in his 40's with growing children and a penchant for a nip of Jack Daniels and long Sunday drives with their wife, nooooooo this happens to people who drink a bottle of jack a day, cheats on their wife on a drunken Sunday drive and doesn't give a fuck who they hurt, not us. I know we're not suppose to say, "this isn't meant to happen to us and we're not meant to say things like bad things should happen to bad people" and the truth is we don't believe that, we wouldn't wish this on our worst enemies, but sometimes we get so sick, so scared, so sad, that we say things we don't mean and having each other to say these things to in a safe environment, without feeling judged or wrong, is a large part of why we're there for each other.

I'm so sad to have lost another friend, a friend whom I have never met, I'm so sad for his family and friends, those that were in his life every day, not just at the end of a beep on a phone. These are the people that don't sleep at night fearing a phone call at 3am telling them their loved one has lost the fight, the ones that are at the hospice at 8am and don't leave until 10pm, wiping their husbands backside, feeding them, wiping the sweat from their pain riddled brows, watching them deteriorate and writhe in pain before them, I honestly don't know whether either side of the cancer gamut is easier than the other, they both suck hairy toe knuckles.

I've known a few people now that have passed away through the blog and at the end of the day I suppose I can't write about all of the fairy floss unicorn moments and ignore the more lifetime movie part moments that happen, whether I write about it or not, THIS is my reality, nothing can or will change that now, just like the people I have met through the blog, I am dying, just like them, no amount of pretending that I'm not will change that. I hate this disease, I hate that it's killing my friends and strangers and I've had enough of thinking about it today, stay Fabulous Rockstars ❤🤘🏼

A dear cancer blogger, someone whomI would like to say paved the way for the rest of us and set the bar so high that we could never achieve her level of greatness, which might I add is greeeeeat for the self-esteem, was recently given the 6 month mark. Dear Melanoma, Emma Betts first and foremost is not a blogger, Emma is not her Terminal Melanoma diagnosis, she is a top chick with a heart that knows no boundaries, she gives even though life has taken so much from her. This person gives care packages to people who are going through their own troubles, she messages me when she is in Emergency with her own problems to see how I'm doing. Emma is more than her cancer, more than her blog, she is the type of person that if you're lucky enough to meet one person you admire or a hero, you'd be bloody lucky if it were her.

So 6 months, I remember initially I was told weeks or months, but I kept beating little milestones I would set for myself, with each treatment or surgery that would extend my life by mere months or even weeks, I would tick off invisible dates in my invisible calendar in my mind. I had myself dead in the first few days, I'm sorry to be so blunt, but that was the first idiot of an oncologist I had upon initial diagnosis telling me if it came back I was incurable. Just a bit of advice to any oncologists out there, new or long-term practising, because this guy was literally months off retirement, so he should really have known better. DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT advise a patient that has not even started treatment with you, that if this "life saving toxic sludge they call chemo does not work and the cancer returns they are incurable, that shit sticks in a patients head like fake tan to a white pleather chair. Just keep your mouth shut, unless you're asked a question, don't answer or of course feel free to offer considerate advice, not stupid bullshit! Sorry, but it still does my head in that a so-called professional could be so insincere and quite frankly stupid. This idiotic advice hung around my neck like an invisible noose from the first ultrasound I had confirming my cancers aggressive return. I was planning my funeral in the car trip home and crying that I'd never get to see my niece go to school or the next season of Homeland.....I know the big issues.....right.

Anyway I returned to my initial oncologist, because that's what you do right? Bowbow, you look around, you visit different specialists, you ask questions, you do all the things you probably didn't do the first time you were diagnosed, because you just do what you're told the first time and that's why you often don't get the best treatment for your cancer the first time around, rarecancers.org.au have released an app called CANrecall and it's a great tool for people having meetings with oncologists and surgeons, it gives you the best questions to ask and also records the session (at the specialists knowledge of course). I went back to my original oncologist and he was a couple of weeks off his retirement, in between talking about his new tinny and all the retirement fishing he was going to do, I asked for his advice, which was a referral letter to a surgeon that does a very risky surgery.......that was it, see ya later, the fish are biting!

I then looked around and found Prof Tattersall, again an older guy, but he gave me hope and options, bingo, I had my oncologist!

My point to this blog, which probably sounds very familiar to many of my previous, is that timelines are time wasters, all they do is put invisible finishing lines at your feet and even if they don't exist, you will keep tripping over them, they consume you, so first things first, if you can, turn those death alarms off, put them on permanent snooze and live for tomorrow, rather than waiting to die tomorrow.

All easier said than done, people always ask me "How do you stay so positive when you know effectively you're dying? My answer is I don't stay positive, I have my days, minutes and hours. The only thing that has kept me going mentally is the fact that I still don't believe it's happening, somehow I'm going to wake up tomorrow and it's all going to be gone and I've only just now had to start to realise that this shit is real, this breathlessness, this weight loss, this tumour fluid build up in my stomach, this never-ending tiredness, loss of appetite and all of the other symptoms that are recognised as "end of life symptoms" are exactly that, I'm dying, sooner rather than later.

You know I was admitted a few weeks ago and once again everyone thought I'd not be getting out, well here I am at home typing this shitty blog to prove them wrong, but they are just as happy to be wrong, as I am for them to be wrong, every single person in that ward, the wardy to the Doctor, is on my side and boy does that make a difference, having people on your side.

I remember after finding my new oncologist and surgical team, we had exhausted at that stage what we thought were all options and one of my surgeon's rang me late in the evening to tell, me the rest of the surgical team were not on board with performing more surgery, so that was it, you'd be lucky if you got 6 months. I remember the sharp stabbing pang of disappointment, the, this isn't real daze that envelopes your entire body, fuck off it's just a bunch of lumps, cut the bastards out and keep cutting them out when they come back, how hard can it be? Can I have a pee bag or a poo bag at least, no, too risky to go in and too much scar tissue. He was deeply apologetic and sad that he couldn't give better news, but that was it. The next night I was still in a WTF daze and had to drive to my local GP on the Central Coast, shout out Karen Douglas, not that she needs it, her patient list is out the door. Karen was so kind she took me in, in front of 20 other patients and just sat and listened to me, sometimes that's what you need, not advice, not bullshit, just an ear to bend, whilst you cry.

6 months, shmix months, timelines, shmimelines, doctors schmoctors, nurses, schmurses. I've gone through more deadlines/timelines than Napoleon Perdis has gone through bronzer. We are all equal when it comes to living and dying, none of us are more important than the other and none of us have a special secret about extending our lives, even though some of us may think we do. For the five millionth time people, broccoli will not CURE my terminal cancer, my cancer eats all my nutrients now, I don't even get any nutrition from food anymore.....sorry, but it's true.

I am still scared, I am still here and for now, the 4 weeks mentioned last week are down to 1 week, more invisible timelines for me to ignore.

Taking money when you're not a taker, boy is it hard. I've had terminal cancer for 3 years and 5 months, over this period of time I've been told I'm dying more times than people ask Sofia Vergara to repeat what she just said, soooo when people have suggested fundraisers or money-raising efforts for me, I've always said thanks, but no thanks.

As you all know a few weeks ago I was once again admitted to palliative care in hospital and deals were made for me to get out of hospital for a few days to visit the coast with my family from o/s. After a few days my body started to regain some strength, I was able to digest food (well sort of), take a crap.....can I get a woot woot? Other normal human body behaviour started to improve, so I was allowed to return home after the coast trip, rather than to palliative care in hospital and thankfully since that last palliative visit, I have not had to return to the ward. At that stage I was unable to even stand in the shower unassisted, I would walk up the stairs and my legs would collapse from under me at the top. I would lose power of my legs just taking one step out the back door, falling down became the norm, I was choking on my own vomit through the night, I still regurgitate, I couldn't pee, once again I was catheterised, I could barely eat or even stand the sight or smell of food, I lost a heap of weight, I still can't lie flat in bed, I have to sit up to sleep, I couldn't reach to wipe my own ass, I had an incision made in my stomach in which a tube is inserted, any tumour fluid or ascites which builds up in the abdomen is then drained via the hole, (I read that people with tumour ascites usually have 1 week to a month to live, hence the reasons my medical team were a bit quiet on it, who wants to tell a patient that type of news) hopefully alleviating the pressure, reducing nerve pain and some of the bloating.

My Mum, God love her, she just doesn't have the upper body strength to assist me up the stairs or manoeuvre me in the shower or bath, not that the bath thing matters, as I can't have my stomach drain immersed in bodies of water. I'm also looking at a stair lift, as my dad has bad arthritis and even though he loooooves helping me up the stairs, there comes a point where you have to be honest with yourself that your body and strength don't always stand the test of time and you need to accept help, just as I have had to accept you wonderful giving Rockstars.

Things looking so bleak I had to start to reconsider my death situation again. You see originally I had decided to just die in palliative care in hospital as I was still in my previously unhealthy relationship and it took that decision out of my hands, now that I'm single my true desire to die at home with my family can be achieved without fear or judgement. The only problem being, when it gets to that time I would need a nurse here 24 hours and as you can imagine, that's definitely not what you'd call cheap. Whilst in hospital it was discussed and suggested with palliative care that we should perhaps obtain the services of a stay at home nurse, especially to help Mum and Dad with their at home care. The poor bastards could enter married at first sight, that's how little they see each other now.

I wanted to do this update/blog as I want 100% transparency, people hear "Stay at home nurse" and they automatically think of the patient......'shit, things must be going down hill now, especially if she's talking at home nursing', but nurses aren't just for us, yes when discussing the hiring of a nurse a few weeks ago it was mostly for overnight stays as I choke at least 3 or 4 times a night, my vomit goes into my lungs and if I'm not woken I'll die, my Mum and Dad have actually been sleeping with me every night since hospital admission, yep a 35-year-old woman and her parents in their early 50's sharing a bed......not even slightly weird. The nurse is also there to ease the pressure of the carers, maybe give the carer a chance to get out for a haircut or a manicure, maybe have a bath or hell maybe read a magazine from front to back.

Doctors and nurses are now cautiously saying that my situation is better than it was, meaning that I don't look like death warmed up anymore, but my disease is still everywhere and growing, that hasn't changed. The thing is my body seems to just keep fighting back, you start counting me out, my body becomes determined to prove you wrong and it's done it again, so even though I am currently suffering from the worst aspiration pneumonia I've ever had, seriously my lungs are burning, all my stats say different, if your oxygen levels are good, your lungs don't sound as wheezy etc. etc. you're defying odds and doing well again.....but I can certainly say with all confidence, that my body, although on the improve, is in its worst place, weakness wise, that it's ever been, but My pall team don't feel today that I need a nurse 24 hours, like I did 2 weeks ago, but that's not to say I won't need one in 3 days time for 24 hours, this disease is just so unpredictable. I am still trying to obtain a nurse for nights and a few days, the hardest part is finding the same nurse, when you're in my position consistency is really important, you don't want to have to go through your 6000 meds and allergies and back story and blah blah blah, every god damn nurse visit, and thats what happens. The nurses can then administer my injections, IV's, change my wound dressings, drain my stomach and most importantly stay overnight to wake me and nebulise me when I'm choking, meaning Mum and/or Dad can get more than an hours consecutive sleep.

I want to say thank you to each and every one of you that has taken the time to donate your hard earnt money to go to a total stranger. I understand I have been very MIA of late, but my sickness is just consuming my thoughts at the moment and although I think of you all numerous times a day, I just don't have the energy to read and reply.

I write my story for "you", not for "me" to gain money or for financial gain, I write it so that you have someone you can relate to and finally hear the reality that is cancer, not the cotton candy version. To those of you who have written messages of support that compare to no other and those that donate $5 and apologise, stop right now, your words are enough and the fact that a single unemployed mother is willing to give me the last of her very minimal pension, well that just blows my cancer filled vagina and it hasn't had a good blow in a VEEEEERY long time. Those amazing people who have donated what some people would earn in a months wage, some that I don't know, they just read my blog or others that I went to school with and we'd just say hi in the corridor or a few of the guys I went to school with who've donated that were lets just say the "opposite" of friendly to me at school and now they're writing beautiful messages of support, giving both emotionally and financially, it seems the people you would never expect or even think would donate or send messages of love and admiration are the ones who are reaching out......Mum and Dad say it's because they loved me, you know the old boys pull the girl's hair story. Either way, you've given me the ability to purchase some much-needed assistance and aids, we will not have to cringe at the thought of opening bills for electricity that runs 24 hours a day because of my hot flushes or pharmacy bills that arrive EVERY DAY, because not everything is covered by PBS, you have no idea how much this money will help, it will go to so much more than you could ever imagine. Cancer is a bloody expensive disease, especially if you keep punching it in the balls and defying the odds.

Thank-you, Thank-you, Thank-you!

Margaret Hurd, thank-you for ignoring my thanks but no thanks to your offer to start the Go Fund me, Mum, thanks for managing messages and comments, I just don't have the energy at the moment to read and respond like I did a month ago, but each and every one of your comments still touch my heart and my Mum or Dad read them for me, just as I've dictated this, Mum just Luuurves writing about my vagina.

I may not have my health, I may not have my looks and I may not have that quick wit that I used to pride myself on, but I do have you, each and every one of you Fabulous Rockstars, now I'd say that's a pretty decent swap, well actually I'd still prefer a cure for cancer, but for now you guys will have to do! Stay Fabulous Rockstars ❤🤘🏼

An extra thank-you to @ren aidonopoulos for the amazing scrap book from our trip to Melbourne, you are a truly special woman and Fabulous Rockstar, of course Constance Hall thank-you for your beautiful words, you are a gorgeous friend that I love to the moon and back Hayley Walker Art thanks for donating proceeds from your amazing artworks. I love all of you amazing Rockstars, those that give, those that can't and everyone in between, you are all special people in my ❤

World Cancer Day today for the World, its World Cancer Day for me and many others 365 days a Year........A little blog on my current state and thoughts on today. Also a shoutout to Angela who was at my local X Ray place yesterday, 29 and she's basically the bionic woman......kids don't do sports lol. Angela introduced herself to me and told me she started reading the blog recently, well my sore chest fluttered, thanks for reaching out pretty lady and I wish you all the luck in the future!, stay Fabulous Rockstar ❤🤘🏼

WORLD CANCER DAY 2017

World Cancer Day, Lisa's every day, millions of other people's day, a day that some people may sit and reflect on the travesty that is this horrendous disease, others may think about how lucky they or their family are for escaping or beating the disease and then there are those that have no idea that it's even World Cancer Day.

I'm so disappointed, I was asked by the two fabulous queens, Queen originalé herself Constance Hall and her best Queen since kindergarten Annaliese Dent to go on their show the Queen Sesh', (only their second show btw, thanks for the confidence in me beauties) to have a chat about the bastard that is cancer and I was very excited to do it, especially to get the rare cancer word out and well if I'm really honest, it was a good excuse to have a good bitch sesh with two of my faves, but biaaatch this show got reach, it's everywhere https://www.hit.com.au/! Believe me I've listened and didn't fall asleep or tune out, which only happens for Married at first sight and Real Housewives, I laughed and cried laughed and laughed cried and then I cry laughed some more.

Anyway this beast being the roller coaster disease it is, I've been choking on vomit in the middle of the night, which is burning my oesophagus, causing pain, husky voice and making my voice break and breathless. Needless to say I'm not up for doing my little segment, which pisses me off as I don't like to back out of anything, I'm sure I could do it, but if it's not great, I don't want to do it! The only thing I can take solace in, is that there is now no risk of me stealing their show from them, which I'd hate to do, as they were my two biggest backers in the beginning of my blog and they didn't even know me, they just read the blog and had faith. Love you girls more than the chicest pair of shoes ever featured in a Sex and the City Episode, but remember if you're going to buy me some, go half a size up, I honestly think red bottoms would cheer me up, no pressure........well some 😜👠👢👡👑.

So World Cancer Day, is my EVERY day, it's not a day for a ribbon, it's not a day for remembering, sadly it's my existence. Not being able to go on the radio show, is one of those little annoying things that Cancer gives and these little gifts individually may be annoying, but they build up, the unpredictability of this whole disease for me is something I don't think I'll ever get used to, so for those of you out there dealing with this disease, be prepared for losing control. You lose control of your body, your strength, your appearance, your emotions, your mental ability, you can lose your vision and other vital organs or senses, your hair, weight, muscle density, bone density and so much more, it's at the point where I can't stand from a sitting position at a particular level without physical help or I can only make 5 steps before my legs fall from under me in the stairs, but losing predictability is one of the worst. We predict we will wake tomorrow, we predict we'll see our friends, family and loved ones again, but imagine if you were given a death sentence without a date, so every day, you know you could die, you know every day could be your last, you'd probably spend a lot of your time thinking when, where, how? Will I just have a massive bleed and die? Will my bladder stop and that's it, stop eating, start sleeping constantly or like now, my lungs have started aspiration, I got the results from my chest X-Ray which confirmed aspirated pneumonia, now that's the type of shit that takes a weak one like me out. My Docs are again not giving dates, as I have always defied them, but "you could be around in 4 weeks or two" have been bandied around from a few different specialists, nurses and doc's. when someone says you could be here in 4 weeks like it's Gods greatest gift to man, it doesn't fill you with much confidence. I get it, I've already squeezed 3 years out of a couple of days, but to me it's like if you buy a loaf of bread with a use by date of 6 days from now and it remains fresh for 9 days, woopty fucking doo, break out the party poppers and streamers, let's celebrate!!!! I know, I'm being cynical and childish and selfish and any other word you can think of that means bratty, but 4 weeks is a fleeting holiday on the QLD coast, not much of a remaining life.

I love that we as a "world" reach out and show our support for cancer, in many different ways. There are so many different cancers and that's why it makes it so difficult to cure it, people often think one cure fits all, but that's like saying one pair of Christian Louboutin fits all and as much as we try to squeeze our normal size 36 into one, you really need half a size up, any girl worth her weight in shoes knows red bottoms usually run a bit small, just like may favouritist shoe, every cancer has a different genetic make up or hormonal make up etc. no one cancer is exactly the same and that's why the "elusive" cure has not been found yet......does that make any sense at all?

I was asked via fb messenger to describe cancer and just a caution, this does involve language, albeit with asterisk, but BAD language for some, Cancer is like a dirty, stinky, unwashed c**t on a 40 degree day, nobody wants to hang around, seriously can't you tell no-one likes you, bigger off already!

They say everything happens for a reason and God only gives "his" greatest battles to those who have the strength to fight them, but I'd really like to know what the pre-requisites are for this selection process, as I can't for the life or in my case impending early death figure out why I'd be selected as any stronger than som cross fit fanatic that dreams of protein shakes and shuts green on the daily because she lives on wheat grass and edamame, wouldn't they be stronger. I've asked this question before and the response from people........pretty much the same 9/10 times, just because someone has a strong body, doesn't mean they have a strong mind or the emotional gumption to persist Day in day out, with this unimaginable disease.

Please, Cancer needs you, people like me need you and the last thing we want to ask for is charity, but sometimes you gotta put your fedora where your mouth goes and shake it for a good cause.

I know a lovely rockstar Margaret Hurd has started a GoFundMe for my family and I to raise money for a nurse at home on occasion and a stair seat lift, as I'm carried upstairs now, but this isn't about me and my small picture, this is about the big picture of cancer on the whole world scale, so here's a few worthy charities, Dreams2live4 are definitely an amazingly kind and thoughtful charity, with real patient/charity connection, so if you are thinking of donating, definitely consider them, it's a small charity with a humongous heart, Rare Cancers are also amazing and the Cancer Council, we all know the great work they do, but sometimes I think the little fella needs a bit of help first.

Author

My name is Lisa Magill and I have been navigating the minefield that is cancer since just months after turning 30, people have been saying to me for years that I should put my thoughts into writing and as time has progressed I thought I had left it too late, well here we are nearly 4 years in and for some unknown reason I've decided to start to write today.

What do I want you to gain from reading my blog? Well I'm not going to say enlightenment and I 'm not going to get you to radically change your diet and start chanting at a full moon, to be quite honest this blog is more about me writing it, than you reading it and if someone happens to google cancer and inadvertently clicks on my link, well that's just a pleasant bonus.

I plan on talking and posting about the good, the bad and the ugly side of all things cancer, fashion, food, family, what you blogosphere type would probably call a "lifestyle" blog.